


Welcome to the Bush, Baby

by KTHRN



Series: Tales of Junkertown [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A team of morons, Adventure, Awkward old man flirting, Big trigger warning!, Don’t mess with D.va, F/M, Hana is a soldier, M/M, Old boys hangin’ out, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Thorough asskickings, main is junkbunny, rated for junkrat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTHRN/pseuds/KTHRN
Summary: The three youngest Overwatch recruits must prove themselves on their first mission. Objective: infiltrate Junkertown, Australia and secure the agent known as Wrecking Ball.Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, as the squad is faced with their opposing beliefs and a pair of rather eccentric “tour guides”.





	1. PROLOGUE - Of Making Acquaintance

Winston rarely, if ever, cursed out loud. He might have been a talking primate but his functions had evolved far beyond that of a brutish ape, not to mention his upbringing had not led him to ever consider the use of such words that were currently leaving his mouth in response to the most recent message to his console. 

 

That lousy, good for nothing rodent. He could not recall Hammond ever being particularly pleasant to deal with back on Horizon, even if they had been friends for a short while.

In fact, the hamster had been a down-right nuisance. Winston recalled it breaking out of its containment on a daily basis to steal just about every piece of gadget or instrument it could get its greedy little paws on. The tech would be confiscated only after hours of searching by the crew after they had retrieved it from the vents, completely modified and frankly beyond restoring.  

 

Then there was the praise the stupid little furball would get for that, just about enough to drive Winston into a jealous tantrum back in the days. Though he had been beyond pleased to find out the rodent was still alive, to pin its location to a remote location in Australia had been a complication. Winston knew of no former Overwatch agents on that continent and it had taken him months to get a message directly to his former friend.

 

But the nerve of it, the gall it had to respond to his call with nothing but a crudely drawn picture of a monkey, one wearing glasses and brandishing a bright yellow banana as it was surrounded by several evil looking stick figures. “Pew pew”, it was captioned, apparently this caricature of himself was trying to shoot the evildoers with the fruit.

 

This was bad. As utterly simple-minded Specimen 8 was at times, he was the product of Horizon Lunar Colony and, as such, one of great genetic engineering. If he were to fall into the wrong hands it would provide a disaster. If the rumors were to be believed, Moira O’Deorain, the disgraced genetic scientist formerly tied to Blackwatch, had been acquired by Talon and was conducting experiments on an unknown test subject. If she were to find out how to reproduce Horizon’s results... 

 

He had to find that hamster.  

 

With renewed focus Winston let his large fingers travel over the keypad in front of him, hastily opening a connection. It dialed for less then two seconds before an image appeared on the screen, namely one of the MV-261 Orca’s cockpit. Centered in the videocall was a disgruntled looking Jack Morrison.  

 

“Jack,” Winston greeted the older man with a large, toothy smile. “How’s the operation?”  

 

Still slightly disturbed at the sight of the gorilla baring its giant incisors at him, Jack tried his best to respond over the sound of yelling and crashes coming from the back of the ship.

“As well as can be expected, considering...”

 

Winston winced at the noises coming from the background. “Ah, yes... it’s good they’re laying out their differences at least. They will see eye to eye eventually, now that they’re united in a common goal.”

 

Jack nodded severely. “Miss Vaswani only responded to our call because of the-“ another crash “-doubts she has concerning the Vishkar. They might not be so far apart after all.” 

 

Suddenly a loud crying sounded over the connection and Jack jumped up from his chair. “Just a minute!”, he called back to the comm as he made his way to the back. Winston was left looking at an empty cockpit.  

 

“He just has to keep pushing her, doesn’t he?”, came a petulant voice. Not so empty after all. The sound of a chair wheeling across the floor and then a slight figure appearing on the screen had Winston smiling broadly once again. 

“Ah! Miss Song. So good to see you made it safely aboard. Welcome to Overwatch.” 

 

Hana Song looked tired and annoyed, yet she returned the smile, albeit with a bit of fatigue. “Yeah, this is great. I get away from my best friend, yelling at me for leaving Korea to join up with a top secret and frankly illegal task force, only to wind up on board of some rickety old ship with two archenemies that can’t stop fighting, and one of them tends to go apeshit - no offense - when she gets too many stimuli.” 

In the distance, Lúcio Correia dos Santos could be heard mumbling in what appeared to be an apologetic tone while Jack tried to calm Satya Vaswani. The youngest of the three, the one sitting in front of the comm, seemed to be a bit wiser than them. For all of her fake, bubbly persona and lack of age, Hana “D.va” Song was in truth a soldier. While the other two could execute flawless control over Vishkar technology, she had seen actual battle with rogue omnics and lived to tell the tale.

 

“Mister Morrison tells me we are headed to your base in Spain, yet we’re still flying over the Indian Ocean according to the nav.”, she continued. “Why the detour?”

 

Winston chuckled at her clever inquiry. He pulled up the map of their current location on his holo, which confirmed her statement. He was about to reply to the teenager - explain that, while a direct route would take only a few hours to get them to his location on the Rock of Gibraltar, it would also lead them over straight over Middle-East airspace, alerting worldwide authorities. The Orca, true to her name, would have to fly over the oceans to avoid detection.  

 

Before he could get the words out, his gaze landed on the marker he had planted, a few miles southwest of the blip that indicated the ship’s whereabouts. The red dot blinked just north of highway route five, Australia, marking a small settlement in the outbacks. Junkertown.

 

“Miss Song, if you would be so kind as to retrieve agent Morrison.”, Winston said thoughtfully, noting that Satya’s crying had subsided and the hull had become silent apart from the hum of the ship’s engine.  

 

“I believe there is cause to send you on your first mission.”


	2. CHAPTER ONE - Of Being Ashamed

Jamison Fawkes blinked up at the star speckled skies above them, stretching his upper body over the back of the passenger’s seat. Engine sputtering, Mako’s bike was almost running on fumes now. From the jolting of the vehicle over each bump in the outbacks, he guessed they were running on a flat tire as well.

 

No matter. With the skies being as clear as they were, they were in for a freezing night and there yet seemed to be no shelter in sight.

 

They should have taken the trolley. Its contents were now buried in a location known only to Junkrat and his trusted bodyguard, the latter of which was finally winning the silence after enduring hours of chatter from his boss.

 

Jamison was getting antsy. There was little to do while they were on the road but to get lost in his thoughts. Thoughts he would get no reply to if he voiced them. Thoughts he, in this rare instance, was wary to voice.

By now the queen would have been alerted to their presence at the gates of Junkertown, only half a day earlier. Good. If she was less than half the idiot he knew her to be, there’d be reinforcements lining each entrance before the morrow. Then, she’d let her guard down.

 

To hear of her escape from his little escapade at her summer shack all those years ago had been predictable enough, her breeder slaves would have sacrificed themselves to shield their mistress at the first chance. Their only chance to show they had been brave men once, in whatever misguided way they could.

 

He knew he had not taken down her champion either, though there had been no news of the Wrecking Ball outside of the gates. Since their return he and Mako had run into several of the queen’s “sisters”, former occupants of the women’s quarters that had run away during the chaos that followed the explosion, but they had no knowledge of the current state of the Scrapyard.

 

Most of them had found lovers among the free workers in some of the outback settlements, completely unaccustomed to doing any kind of work themselves. They did not seem to recognize Jamison at first, not in the least because of his missing limbs and loss of weight, or the years he had spent overseas. It was his voice that had changed the most.

 

At first, he had tried to fight the incomplete set of biotic breeder injections he had received and the results they had on his body. If he focused enough, he could push down the pitch of his voice and keep a steady enough volume. Most times now, everything he said came out as a flangling shout, manic and insane. He could eat and eat but nothing would stick to him, his back bent and remaining limbs able to move with more flexibility than previously known to him, eyes appearing large in his soot covered face and it had been months since they had found more than a few sips of water that was not filthy or irradiated as shit, let alone anything to clean himself with.

 

He no longer minded. Let them believe he lost his mind, as he lost his voice, as he lost his arm and leg, his masculinity, his pride and his home. They would underestimate him, and he would use it against them.

 

Mako suspected, he knew. For all the old man had taken him in when he had stumbled upon his farm two decades ago, Roadhog was no fool and Junkrat was no small boy anymore. He offered the man a quarter share of his profits in exchange for protection and warded off any glimpse of pity in the eyes of he who had all but raised him. That pity turned to annoyance, gruff if not slightly fond, at his childish antics and crazy ideas.

Like the gates were shut to Junkrat, and he was left out to die, so were they shut on the man that still allied himself with him. Mako knew his farming and Jamison knew his hunting, and they would have had no trouble getting by but for the burning need inside the younger man to have revenge, once and for all.

 

Not on the champion, Wrecking Ball had won their match in the Scrapyard fair and square, mech against flesh with the odds stacked in his favor. But on the queen and all she took from him, from his family and his friends, Jamison would not rest before that debt was repaid in full.

 

There was more to those biotics than was visible to the eye and that was what really kicked him. As Mako pulled over to the side of the road, the tank finally sputtering its last gurgling breath and the engine dying beneath them, Jamison lurched from the sidecar and sprinted away in a hurried hobble.

“Take care of yourself then”, his bodyguard grumbled, fishing for their beat down tent at the bottom of the seat he had left.

Junkrat went as far as his crippled leg could carry him, over the flat, sparsely vegetated soil. He had smelled the lake before he saw it, the salt deep in the ground. Beneath the starry skies Lake Lewis was hardly discernible despite its bubble-gum shade of pink.

 

All but crawling to the shore, Jamison discarded his boot, belts, trousers and gear in rapid succession before sinking into the shallow pool. Recalling the last time he had had to clean the salty deposits off, he unbuckled his prosthetics warily before throwing them unceremoniously to the riverbank. To be so vulnerable but hours away from Junkertown was not a good idea, but neither was having his knee jammed because of rusty, eroded bolts.

 

Free at last and relatively hidden, he dropped his left hand to his engorged cock and gave it a tug. Groaning, the spike of pleasure gave way to the familiar feeling of shame at his over sensitivity. At the very least the salt would dry the damn skin out and the discomfort should keep it down a bit more, he thought absentmindedly, stroking in earnest now.

 

Before the biotics, he had been no virgin Mary. Now, however, the need was ever present. He could hardly light a fuse without creaming his pants, yet at most times he would just harden painfully beneath his belts without any chance for relief. In a hurry, knowing he had to get back to the bike before arousing any suspicion or attracting danger, he tried to focus his thoughts on anything that used to bring him off.

So he thought of Suzy, one of the first girls he had ever had back in the womens quarters in Junkertown. She had been a pretty one, her hair a deep shade of chestnut and her milky skin a testament to few hours ever spent in direct sunlight. He felt the familiar tightening sensation at his ball sack, so little it took to get him there after spending all that time suppressing it in that damn bike.

 

As he reached the edge, the vision in his mind took another turn. Brown hair turned darker, into black streaked with purple, her sweet, shy smile turned wolfish and predatory as she bared her neck and teeth in cruel ecstasy. ‘Not so brave now, are you Junkrat? Nothing clever to say?” He tried to fight, to struggle against the chains that tied him down to the bed of her summer shack, to scream for help, to bite at her hands on him...

 

Crying out, he released the hold he had on himself. Yet he was falling already, emptying himself into the water tinged pink, looking like blood, not salt, had mixed with the lake and made it so devoid of life. Clasping his hand over his mouth, Jamison gave himself a few more minutes to sob in shame and defeat.

Dragging himself out of the water with his arm and leg, he reached for his artificial limbs and reattached them silently on the shore. He felt his new persona cling to his person more firmly with each buckle and belt, until he was dressed and strong enough to head back.

 

 

Mako huffed in annoyance, the cold beginning to settle around him. The terms they had decided on definitely did not include him setting up the tent, nor did they account for the damage to his motorcycle. The kid had better not think he was going to push the thing all the way to Perth with him in the sidecar.

It was going to be a miracle to find anyone in this remote place with the spare parts needed to fix it, though he knew Jamison had more skill than most of the mechanics back home. Fuel was an issue too, and most of the Junkers did not visit this corner of the outbacks. If anything they would go further south, to Dashwood Creek, the place where they buried their ancestors and paid their respects.

It had been over fifteen years since they had made the trip themselves, to lower ‘Nan Junkdog into the waters. As her clan sang the traditional song of parting, a ten-year-old Jamison had joined in wholeheartedly, shedding his own tears into the river and shivering against Mako’s side.

 

He had been shaken though he did not show it. Enough death had followed Roadhog ever since his migration Down Under to aid in the omnic struggle. Enough blood was on his hands, the cancer on his skin and in his lungs testifying to his failure to save these now irradiated lands, to help his boy find any sense of peace and belonging. To see him cry so openly over someone he had hardly known had awoken a part of Mako he had buried a long time ago.

 

He had had his eyes on the road for the whole trip, plainly ignoring his so-called boss in favor of contemplating his own existence and the hunger gnawing at his stomach. Pointing his gaze upwards now, he idly thought of what life would have been like if he had stayed in London instead. Probably filled with McDonalds.

 

“Oi, I can ‘ear yer whining from over ‘ere you big lug. Quit it!”, Mako rolled his eyes beneath his mask as the uneven pitch of Jamison’s voice hit his ears.

 

“Come an’ help me out. Hold up the sail at least so I can fix the poles unda’ it.” His all-but-adopted son complained loudly as he shuffled around in the tent bag. Roadhog, however, had his eye fixed on something in the sky. For the first time in hours, he spoke, gruffly: “...Shooting star”

 

Junkrat shot upright from where he was crouching, overjoyed at his response. After their (purposely) botched attempt to sneak into town, he was wondering if the old man would ever break his silence. Then, he processed what had actually been said and followed his line of sight.

 

“That’s... that aint a star mate. It’s a ship.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, he stumbled backwards a bit. “Hooly dooly that’s a big ship.”

 

The next few minutes had them scrambling for cover as the tiny light in the sky grew bigger and bigger. The noise from its engines was overwhelming in the silence of the night.

 

 

 

Hana sighed deeply as she applied the finishing touches of oil to the hinge of the arm of her mech. Tokki, as she had named her suit, had served her too well for her to abandon it altogether. Dae-hyun had fully lost it when she readied her “Meka” to head to the Overwatch pick-up coordinates.

 

He had a point. Not only was the former UN agency banned from activity, making their actions illegal according to international law, Hana was also indefinitely a member of the South-Korean millitary, and she would be hounded forever. Taking the mech was the last straw, she would never be able to set foot in Busan again without being imprisoned for life on multiple charges of treason.

 

But she was older now, wiser than she was before. Life was not a game, war was not a game. Knowing what was at stake and having no way to stop it, only to hold it off for weeks at most, waking up every night breathless from nightmares and feeling that somewhere out there, her enemy was regrouping and growing stronger from experience...

 

Dae-hyun was right. She could not do it alone, and she had to ask for help. There had to be a more effective way to shut down the omnics forever, before all was lost. He had tried to hold her by the arm in the end, in tears, some half-formed confession rising up that she had no intention of hearing from the boy she looked at as a brother. So she wacked him across the head with a wrench, not with enough force to do any damage but hard enough to knock him out for a few minutes.

 

She left him shouting after her while she charged into the sky, Tokki’s core humming faithfully beneath her. It would be the last she saw of her best friend, unless she found a way to save him. To save Korea, perhaps even the world. 

 

The ship was blissfully silent as they dove smoothly into Australian airspace, making sure to avoid detection by flying in over the national parks between Darwin and Derby. She had inspected the map thoroughly, as an excuse to stick around while Winston informed their senior commander on their mission.

 

When she had been much younger, the e-sports tournaments had taken her as far as London once. If life had taken a different turn, she often thought she would have liked to travel more. Perhaps there was still a chance to do that now.

Hana knew little of Australia, other than that it had a much more irregular climate than home. She stroked a hand absentmindedly over her jumpsuit, first grade military material that was sure to keep her insulated. Also, weren’t there kangaroos or something..?

 

She kept her sights on the view outside their ship, though there was little to see in the night. No lights at all, in fact, no city or village discernible from the small windows. The older soldier was busy steering them to an unknown destination, though she had caught snippets of his conversation with the big monkey in charge.

 

What little illumination could be found came from a short distance beside her, where that strange girl was playing around with the devices on her metal arm. Satya, she recalled, had been picked up first by Jack Morrison. Lúcio had also been there when she arrived and to say that those two did not get along was an understatement.

 

Apparently she had gone and blown up half a block in his city to make way for her former employers architectural whims and anyone who knew anything about Lúcio Correia dos Santos (which she did), knew that he loved his home country and anyone in it.

 

One of Hana’s favorite EDM artists had been familiar with Overwatch for longer than either of them, protesting against their disbandment, protesting against those Vishkar guys too, apparently. She had not known, but then a lot got lost in translation and the hectic times of war. To have him sitting on the other side of the cargo bay was surreal, but then so was everything about this situation.

 

The Vaswani girl seemed the calmest, in clear contrast to less than an hour ago when she had been screaming her head off. Apparently she was angry at him for taking some kind of technological heirloom from the company that raised her. More clearly, even to Hana, she was angry at herself and her inability to discern right from wrong.

 

So they were all on the run then, searching for answers and justice in a cold world. A starting point, at least. Fascinated, Hana watched the other girl stretch perfect symmetrical shapes out of what seemed to be light resonating from her wrist and fingertips. Suddenly, the image was distorted as the ship began to tremble midair.

 

Turbulence? As if a switch had been flipped, adrenaline flooded her system. Hana glanced at her mech, then to the cockpit. Making a quick decision she was out the door of the cargo bay. Scanning the screens at the front of the ship for interference, perhaps an enemy vessel, she was halted by the masked face of Jack Morrison.

 

“At ease soldier”, he said hoarsely. “We’re about to land. A bit further from our destination to avoid raising suspicion. These people... they’re not the friendliest bunch. Might want to be careful when we touch ground”

“Oh..”, she said dumbly. “Algesseumnida"

 

An awkward silence followed, and she hurriedly searched for the correct phrase in her mind. “Um.. Understood! Yessir!”

 

That got a laugh out of the old man, and she almost sagged in relief. “Okay look,” Jack began, “There’s no need for all that. When we’re on a mission, you can refer to me by my code name, Soldier Seventy-Six. When it’s just our team, and we’re not doing anything special, call me Jack. It’s what everyone does.”

 

“Okey.. Jack!”, she smiled, liking the man already in spite of, or because of his informal ways. “Do I get a code name too?”

 

Jack had turned back to the ships controls. “You have one don’t you? Diva, I believe. Go tell your squad mates to get ready. We’re heading out in five minutes.”

 

 

 

By the time Junkrat and Roadhog had found shelter in one of the sparse bushes, they were blinded by the unforgiving beams of light coming from the ships landing gear. Their cover was nearly blown, literally, by the sheer force of its hover propellers, which had the huge machine touch down relatively gently on a more even patch of land near their hiding place.

 

Mako noted, with some satisfaction, that it had not crushed his bike in its landing. Stretching widely across his view, the craft seemed to be an early military issue. He could scarcely make out the writing on the hull, but he knew a UN-classified unit when he saw one, when he heard its engine roar out into the night.

 

He had not seen one of these fly for more than three decades, back during the omnic relief effort with the Australian Liberation Front. He had been young and foolish then, a mere field medic sent out on an out-of-control mission to the outbacks omnium factory. That had been the last time. No relief had come for them, after.

 

“Stay down”, he grumbled to his boy. Jamison was silent, for once, looking at the giant aircraft in awe.

 

It was not long before the hatch opened outwards, tipping down to touch the arid soil and let out the ships passengers. Mako counted, one, two, three, then four. The first were unarmed, young looking. The last one had a nasty looking pulse rifle slung over his shoulders, he must have been around his age.

 

Still, if they could pull it off this would be the catch of the century. Reaching around for his frag launcher, Mako came up short. He left the damn thing at the bike! Along with his hook and, a quick glance sideways confirmed it, all of Jamison’s gear.

 

One of the young ones was chatting happily, stretching her arms and seeming relieved to be touching ground. He nudged the boy next to him, hoping he would come up with one of his brilliant plans of distraction.

 

Junkrat stepped out of the bush, into plain view, waving his hand in the air. “G’day!” That blithering idiot. Always lost his head at the sight of a pretty sheila. Still, this was his chance.

 

Jack had his gun trained on the young man as soon as he appeared, taking no chances. His visor flashed up insistently in the corner of his eye, revealing a second heat signature a small distance away. “Hands up buddy. Nice and easy.” Damn it. There weren’t supposed to be people out here, in the middle of nowhere on a freezing cold night.

 

“Oi, I don’t want any trouble mate.”, the kid lifted his hands obediently. His eyes went from Jack to Satya, to Hana... where they rested until Lúcio stepped in front of her defensively. “Oh hey man. Didn’t think we’d find anybody out here this late. You gotta be cold!”, the Brazilian greeted cheerfully, one hand trailing inconspicuously towards the sonic amplifier strapped to his belt.

 

“Well I sure am, cobber! I was out here with a mate, but he seems to ‘ave gone and left me all on me own. You dun’ happen to ‘ave any more boarding space on that noice piece ‘o machinery there, do ya?”, by now the blond man was edging a bit closer, his hands still raised.

 

“Sorry kid. We’re only parking her here. Our destination is elsewhere.” Jack still had him in his sights, distracted only slightly by the warning of that other person. Where did they go..? Hana had grabbed Satya by the wrist and pulled her back towards the open ship. Clever girl, she was going for her gun.

 

The man- seemingly in his late twenties or early thirties - looked dangerous, a sharp look in his eyes that seemed to be sizing Jack up. “Oh really now. That’s a shame. No otha crew aboard?”

 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, Jack grumbled, just as Hana made a leap into the ship, pulling Satya along with her. Lucio unhooked his weapon, flexing his fingers around the handle with a smile. “Why don’t you tell us where your friend is, man? We could help you look for him if it’ll help.”

Suddenly lowering one of his hands and pointing his finger behind them, the kid bared his sharp teeth in a flash of golden crowns, his eyes shining bright like copper in the headlights of the Orca. “Roight o’er there, mate!”

Jack had just enough time to whip his rifle around before it all went to hell.


	3. CHAPTER TWO - Of Facing Off

Before Jack could even fire his first shot, a giant hand had closed around the barrel of his precious heavy pulse rifle and lurched it sideways. It burst out into the side of the ship, leaving a large scorch mark in the hull. His visor blinked uselessly at a heaving, sweaty chest, followed by the sight of a hideous tattoo of a cartoon pig which covered an enormously large belly. Then, he had to crane his neck to look upward, only for his eyes to meet the holes of a mask. A mask, covering the face of what had to be the largest, fattest and smelliest man he had ever seen. 

 

“Heh. Enjoying the view?”, came a guttural sound from the covered mouth. Jack did not know what to say to that, so of course the next thing that left his mouth was: “Keep dreaming, big boy.”

 

The next moment he was sent flying backwards, bent around his stomach, that the man had unceremoniously shoved his other fist into. Wheezing, he tried to get back up where he landed behind Lúcio and damn it if he was not getting too old for this shit.

 

The young Brazilian, in turn, merely lifted his sonic amplifier to the man and turned the dial to thirty percent with his thumb, pulling the trigger with his index finger. The bass came out in a thundering wave and hit the monster on his massive gut, making him take exactly one step back, fat jiggling around like a giant jello.

 

“Dayum son, you fat as fucking fuck!”, Lúcio hollered, cranking up the intensity to a maximum, yet before he could fire he felt the cold sensation of metal curling around his middle. There was a hook around him. A hook attached to a thick, long, iron chain.

 

Lurching forward, his amplifier gun slipped out of his hand and clattered to the ground. Grabbing the boy by his dreadlocks and lifting him in the air, Roadhog peered into the kid’s eyes through his mask with a look of disapproval that he probably could not see. “You wanna say that again, pipsqueak?”

“Uhh, sorry?”, Lúcio squeaked.

 

“Allllroight! Who in ‘ere just called the big lug a fat fock, cus I’m armed and rarin’ to go.”

 

Of course that was the moment Jamison decided to jump into the fight. Grinning wildly, he threw up one hand to release one of his detonation mines, the detonator clutched firmly in the other. The explosive sailed through the air, a perfect curveball, a split-second away from landing right on top of Jack.

 

Groaning, the soldier made to evade the impending device by jumping sideways while, behind him, the large man tossed Lúcio aside and threw his giant, chubby arm in front of the young deejay as some kind of fleshy shield. Yet, suddenly, the mine stopped moving.

 

A moment of stunned silence passed as it simply seemed to be stuck midair. Then, a flash of light blazed through the night sky and solidified into a large wall, a barrier that separated the explosive and the explosives expert from the rest of them on the other side. Cursing, Junkrat pressed the detonator only to find out it was exactly as he expected, the flames bursting on one side of it and hitting absolutely no one in the process.

 

“Language”, Mako grunted, lowering his arm. Jamison pouted, cross. “That’s no fair!”

 

On the other side of the barrier from him, the two women came out of the ship, the tall one seemingly controlling the strange phenomenon and the other one brandishing what seemed to be some kind of toy gun.

 

“Looks like we’re outnumbered here boss. Let’s negotiate”, Roadhog had probably not spoken that long a sentence to him in three years and Junkrat was taken aback, though he was too proud to show it at the moment.

 

“Alroight hold up. We can eeeasily take these guys if princess o’er there drops her little fairy magic show. ‘Ow bout you knock her out?”

 

“No one is knocking anyone out. You’re finished, give up.”, Hana spoke up then, moving in front of Satya protectively. Mako was disinclined to follow the order at any point, glancing furtively at the older guy who had regained his rifle and was now cocking it threateningly. Cute, he thought.

 

Jamison burst out in a manic fit then, doubling over and pointing at the smallest member of their opponents. “Would’ya look at that Roadie. This sheila, it’s too much, it’s too focking adorable.”, he all but cried, wiping tears of laughter from his scrunched up, orange eyes.

 

Calming down abruptly, he straightened up and looked Hana in the eye. “Okay, okay. Look, luv, what’chu gonna do? Shoot me with your little Barbie-doll pistol? Calm yerself, sugertits, I ain’t Ken.”, with that, he was back to heaving with mirth like the absolute idiot that Roadhog knew he was.

 

The girl, to her credit, seemed remarkably calm. Only a slight twitch in her hand gave her away.

 

Hana was pissed off. She should not be, she should be controlling her temper, she knew. But it had been a long day and no one had ever disrespected her like that since she had been at that English game-con. And she had completely obliterated that neck-bearded moron ingame, afterwards.

 

This was real life and this was a real fight, but life in the military had prepared her for it. For the past few hours, she had been prepared for it, doing breathing exercises during the mounting tension between Lúcio and Satya to try and calm herself. This blond asshole had threatened frail, beautiful Satya, called Hana some degrading name that no doubt was a play at her decisive lack of chest volume and now he was going to get it.

 

She went straight for the jugular and by the time he realized what was happening she was wrestling him to the ground, his friend laughing at him in the background.

 

Jack had jumped through the barrier after her in some strange, protective instinct, and now coughed awkwardly. The boy gave strangled cries, both in pain as she headbutted him, pained amusement as she twisted his nipples with both, sharp nailed hands and something else, decidedly shameful as she straddled him, crushing his midriff with her legs and bearing down on an area that a lady that young had no business bearing down on.

 

Reminding himself that this was Hana Song, a decorated South-Korean soldier and not just some random teenager he was looking out for, Jack cleared his throat again. “Okay... Diva, that’s enough.”

 

The girl shrieked in anger, rearing her arm back, only to swing her hand forward to slap the boy so hard and loudly Jack could feel the crack of it resonate down his spine. “That is an order, soldier!”

 

Hana stopped immediately, twisting around to meet his eyes in an angry stare, before seeming to realize what she was doing and the effect was something he recognized from somewhere. Her eyes grew large and impish, a stuttering apology rising to her lips while the boy groaned beneath her, dazed and probably having a very inappropriate reaction.

 

Staring down the barrel of a rifle belonging to an older, seemingly angry man and cheek stinging from the impact of a true and worthy bitchslap, Jamison made a quick decision. When the small hurricane had gotten off him and drew her weapon, he threw his arms up beside his head and surrendered.

 

That got him in the following predicament, after walking obediently into the ship of his captors. The first thing that caught his eye was a bulky, mechanical armour that stood at the back right of the cargo area. The next was a securely locked arsenal of weaponry stashed behind it.

 

These people were no tourists; they were armed to the teeth. That only made sense if...

 

“Hoo-hooly- you lot are on some mission aint’cha?”

 

The two in front of him tensed, almost imperceptibly. Then came that damn rifle, bumping into the back of his already sore head while its owner bit out a gruff: “Shut it.”

 

Junkrat could hear Roadhog snicker under his breath, which was never a subtle sort of sound with him. Damn traitor.

 

But that confirmed it. Whoever they were, they came to the outbacks with an objective in mind. That meant they were not going to hand them over to the authorities first thing, heck, they probably did not even recognize him and Roadie. It also meant there was a leverage to exploit.

“Nah really mate, why don’t we sit down an’ have us a chat? Start ova’.”

 

That was the que for the feisty little sheila to pipe up from behind Roadie, just as Junkrat was shoved past a cosy looking dinner table and into a kitchen area. “Denied. Go sit yourself down and chat with your, what do you call it? Mate.”

 

She had a sugary tilt to her voice and Jamison felt his stomach do a little flip, a bad sign if he ever knew it. Even worse, they had a containment station and the tiny guy was opening it with a smirk on his brown face, the tall woman standing by with her hands clasped behind her back. No doubt she was fondling that weird device behind her back. Junkrat giggled nervously and stepped forward.

 

 

They were trapped.

 

 

Roadhog pushed himself in after his so called boss and the gate was promply closed behind him by the taller girl. When he turned around, the automatic bolts snapping shut, Mako was faced with the grumpy - but surprisingly limber - older man on the other side of the door, who steadied his rifle and completely ignored him in favor of tilting his face towards the ceiling. Prissy.

 

“Athena, run a security scan on our guests please.”

 

The noise filtering in through the thick, no doubt bulletproof glass was faint but clear enough. An intercom. He could sense Jamison shaking in his boot. The visor that was perched on the nose of Mr. Grumpypants flashed red under the ceiling lights and that was that.

 

“Careful with that! Don’t want’chu ta hurt yerself.”, his son drawled at the sheila from before as she arranged their weapons in a secured lockup beside their own. “Can’t hear us.”, Mako slumped to the ground with a grunt, leaning against the wall of their glass prison.

 

“Ah. Oi mate this might be a bad time to tell ya I’m feelin’ a bit claustrophobic- don’t give me that it’s true! You remember when I was locked up in Bruce’s basement and-“

 

Roadhog only rolled his eyes and tuned him out.

 

 

 

“Diva, Symmetra... Lúcio. Come with me”, Jack turned away from the vault. To their credit, the three only gave eachother a sideways look before following him.

 

As he led them through to the cockpit, Jack thought about ringing up Winston, then decided against it. The monkey was too clever not to be monitoring their operation through Athena, probably streaming the data from his visor directly to Gibraltar.

 

As the three youngsters gathered in front of him he found himself momentarily at loss for words. This mission just got a hell of a lot more dangerous than it already was.

 

“We’re in luck. The people we’ve just taken captive are no strangers to this place and we could use them to further our objective.”

 

Hana almost gaped at him in disbelief, Lucio only stared at him blankly. Satya, in turn, frowned at Jack and lifted her hand.

 

“Permission to speak, sir?”, before he could even reply she continued, “You seem to have forgotten to brief us on what exactly our objective is.”

 

Jack gave her a patient smile, though he winced internally. “Right. Our current location-“, he walked towards the map, “Is seventeen klicks away from Lake Eaton, Australia. We are also aproximately a hundred klicks removed from Junkertown, at the top of mount Allen. This is the stronghold of people like our captives and the location of our objective. We are on a mission to infiltrate this stronghold and collect a valuable resource from inside it, then bring it back to Watchpoint, Gibraltar. Any questions?”

 

There was a long pause, before Lúcio spoke up first. “Soo.. how far is a click?”, it was like a dam broke.

 

“This sounds very dangerous. Are we sufficiently prepared to-“ “I cannot believe this, you want us to trust these guys to-“ “Damn, this sounds awesome, the guys back home will never believe-“ “Infiltrate a stronghold run by such people, although perhaps their lack of order will work to our advantage, I should-“ “Help us into their own home? They will turn on us the moment we-“ “Oh man I should call Rico and let him know I’m-“

 

“Pipe down, all three of you”, and just like that, it was quiet, all attention back to the older man. “This is your first mission for the elite taskforce that is Overwatch, don’t expect it to be easy. The world depends on you to see this through untill the job is done, as I am confident in this team’s abilities. The details of our operation will stay between the four of us until we have done so.” Jack glanced imperceptibly at the overhead station, where he knew the mic was running. “Also, a klick is a kilometer.”, he finished lamely.

 

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned to Hana. “Diva, stay put. You two, get some rest, we move out in the morning.”

 

Lúcio gave her a look, before following Satya back into the cargo area. As her new teammates dissapeared through the bay door it began to dawn on her.

 

Since the fight outside the ship, he had been short with them, her in particular. Hana knew she had been out of line; she also knew when a superior was about to issue a reprimand.

 

“You lost control out there. The fate of this mission, any mission, hangs in the balance when individual members of the team take unneccesary risks. From now on you do not rush into danger head on, you stick with your team. Understood?”

 

In the twenty seconds he spoke, she had deflated like a balloon.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good. Let’s go then.”

 

To her credit, Hana did not fumble in their silent walk towards the other end of the ship. She didn’t so much as glance at the holding cell as she moved to the sleeping quarters where her teammates had retreated.

 

Jack watched her go wearily, knowing she was as petulant as any teenager could be beneath the weight of duty. Then he looked sideways and straight into the masked face of their older prisoner.

 

Mako Rutledge, also known as Roadhog, age forty-eight, former member of the Australian Liberation Front. Wanted for armed robbery, kidnapping, extortion, theft, estimated millions in property damage. The bank of Dorado, the English crown jewels.

 

The man only sat there, staring at him and seeming to mirror his own exaspiration. The source of which..

 

Jamison Fawkes, also known as Junkrat, aged at aproximately thirty. Demolition and explosives expert. Wanted for arson.

 

The one the big guy called boss. At the moment he seemed to be lost in a rant, waving his arms about and seemingly not even noticing Jack being present outside of their container, even as he activated the comm.

 

“-tellin’ ya we’re gonna run outa breath, soon, Roadie I can feal it. This is the end mate. The end of-“

 

“Roadhog and Junkrat.”, he interjected. “Aplogies for interrupting, you might be glad to know your room is not airsealed.”

 

Within the first split second Jack started talking, Junkrat had all but launched himself into the opposite corner of the cell, still hyperventilating. Roadhog had hardly moved a muscle and Jack wondered if he might be asleep.

 

He cleared his throat in a feeble attempt to rouse the large man before turning to the frightened, skinny one who for the most part seemed a cross between a deer in the headlights and a fizzled out matchstick.

 

“You might also be glad to know we are part of an organisation that could use your particular sets of skill. If you cooperate, we may be lenient in our course of justice, considering your extensive list of crimes.”

 

That came out right, he thought. There was only a short awkward silence as his words seemed to register with the younger man between his now less frantic intakes of air, his eyes losing their manic edge. Then, something much darker seemed to settle in them.

 

“Prove it then. Let us out.”

 

Unfazed, Jack continued. “As I understand it, the two of you might be able to lead us into Junkertown. Help us, and we’ll give you back your freedom. I’ll give you until tomorrow to think about it.”

 

And just like that, their conversation was over.


End file.
